Breaks.
It’s a farewell to much of my life, but not the last blog.
If you’re here, you’re probably wondering why I’ve quit escorting relatively abruptly.
Good news, I’ve got a whole week alone with my laptop, so I’m sure you’ll get every last little detail as I pour it out, trying to figure out what life will look like going forward.
If you’d asked a few months ago, I had a general idea it would be towards the end of 2027.
Then a few weeks ago I decided to take a sabbatical. Instead of the 2 and a bit years, I gave myself 2 and a bit weeks. Sort out the looming tax bill, get some savings, and then make the plunge.
As those 2 and a bit weeks went by, my intention went from ‘take 3 months off, try real life’ to ‘maybe 3-6 months, because new businesses can take a while to fledge’ and then it slid to ‘maybe I’ll just leave and try not to come back’. Then I scrabbled up to the tallest diving board & jumped off.
Some people were reading the word ‘sabbatical’ and interpreting it as ‘hey, have a nice holiday in December, see you in Jan!’ Others, the more neurotic type, were near-catatonic in the corner insisting it was my retirement before I’d even considered it.
There were 3 main reasons I wanted to take a break, and too many smaller ones to list them all here.
Truth be told, I was all ‘touched out’. I needed my body to be mine, just mine, for a while. To wear make up because I want to, and to shave when it suits me.
I need to use my brain. I felt like I’d completed all the challenges escorting could reasonably throw at me and I was just on autopilot this past year or two. I missed that fizz of coming up with new ideas, or if I had the new ideas, I didn’t make enough time to act on them. Gradually I realised that perhaps it would be better to go try these new things and see if they work, than wait 2 years until my arbitrary deadline and assume they’ll just work. I do have a tendency to land on my feet, but was it worth the gamble? If not now, then when?
Lastly, I wanted to try and make a relationship work. I refused to quit for a man, but I figured he could be on probation, whilst I was on sabbatical. We’d made it over a year with escorting being part of the picture. Together we would explore life without escorting and the difficulties it can bring, then make a decision about where things were going. He hadn’t promised me the world, there were no illusions. I have reasonable qualifications to ensure I’d survive with or without him. Not without some difficult negotiations, an agreement was made. Finish escorting, take a holiday, move in together, begin life afresh, just see how it goes.
Except, he left. 4 days before I quit. 4 days before I reached my finish line, and 4 days before we reached our start line.
For the first few days, I thought it was some kind of test. To see if I was stopping for myself, or for him. Regardless of him, all the other reasons were still present and I stopped. I understand if he didn’t leave then, it would only have become increasingly difficult to do, further down the line.
Those last 4 days were hell to keep composure. Clients who over-estimated my role in their life were acting like I’d broken up with them, whilst I was reeling from actually being broken up with.
At other times when going through a break up, I take a few days off to clear my head, but I had a deadline. I felt like I’d just been left at the altar, but I powered through, for better or worse.
In breaks between sessions, I’d email him asking for clarity, but there was nothing I hadn’t heard before, only things I’d failed to fully comprehend in time, and things I’ll probably never comprehend.
There are only so many changes you can make before you have to accept that no matter what you do, you’re going forward alone.
I asked him to meet me at the airport to come on the holiday still, like something out of a movie. It got a laugh but not a result. I found my head spinning toward anything tall with dark hair, knowing he didn’t have the flight details.
Nothing was refundable, I made myself go and make the most of what will likely be my last foreign trip for a couple of years. Anyone I could have tolerated sharing a room with, was understandably busy at such short notice. And perhaps I’ve needed the space to think.
Someone once said to me ‘You don’t look clumsy.’ In much the same tone of voice someone could ignorantly state ‘They don’t look disabled’.
About a year ago, always keen to tread the line between classy & clumsy, I tripped over my old chaise longue and broke my foot. A few days ago, as I packed my suitcase and blindly carried the empty dog crate down the absurdly steep staircase, I fell and injured the same foot in the exact same place. I don’t wish to find out what ‘third time lucky’ means in this context.
I can walk, but badly. I’m not the type of person to walk slowly, or sit still, and yet I find myself forced to take a slower pace for a while. Stop, sit down, take things in.
Less than 24 hours after miscalculating those last 5 steps, I landed in Naples.
If you’ve never been to Naples, it’s hilly. The abundance of volcanoes should give it away.
I’m staying on the top floor of a house on top of a hill. Every surface is cobbled and uneven. Zebra crossings mean nothing, red lights are optional. If you want to cross a road, you better do it quick.
Miserable as sin, I still pressed on determined to find the positivity. I strapped my toes together and waddled down the hill into town to explore. Having studied languages, I found meaning & humour in some French graffiti saying ‘This could be madness’. And an illuminated sign with some letters missing that at first glance said ’24/7 self worth’.
I’m all for dancing in the rain, rather than waiting for the sun to shine, but the storm on the first night was otherworldly. Rivers running down the streets and my clothes soaked through, at least my foot was numbed by the cold. As I hauled my sorry ass back up the zigzag streets, diving out the way of tooting mopeds, mother nature decided it was The Ideal Time to begin cramping. Pain shooting up from my foot, and down from my womb, I staggered up like a zombie dragging a decaying limb.
I’d already clocked that the walls of this hotel are paper thin and decided there is no scope to get my vibrator out, yet as I rolled about grunting & moaning through the pain, I must have sounded like I was having the time of my life.
Today has been better.
I know I’m on the right path, but I’ve got to do it without any sort of crutches.
There’s bound to be something good on the horizon, a reward of sorts. I know there will be a fresh sense of purpose, but it doesn’t have the face I knew and loved.
Life has given all of its lemons, but I’m in the land of Limoncello.